


I Am Wasting Away, But Cannot Die

by Ranni



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Captivity, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Thor, Protective Tony Stark, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Feels, Thor Is Not Stupid, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: They are smiling when they leave, and in the coming months Steve would cling to that image--the two of them side by side, laughing with each other, feeling confident. Happy. It would be the last time either would look that way for a long time.orClint is abducted and the torture continues long after his rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains disordered eating, so if that sort of thing is triggering to you, please be kind to yourself and find something else to read. Food is something I have long struggled with myself.

*********

"You two kinksters are looking very fifty shades of black today," Tony observes.

Clint and Natasha are walking out together, both dressed in their Shield uniforms. It has been a long time since Steve has seen them in their full ensemble, even down to the black Shield caps, which Natasha has set over her french braided hair. Clint has his scrunched up and shoved in his back pocket; he hates wearing head gear of any kind.

Clint grabs the coffee pot and pours himself a cup despite Natasha's scowling _haven't you had enough_ expression. "Yeah, we're blowing this popsicle stand. Shield is sending us out to do super secret things in super secret places."

Steve always worries when the pair is sent away without the other Avengers, but can't help but smile a little at their obvious excitement. It has been a quiet few weeks, and both of the agents hate stagnation, especially Natasha. Her face is as composed as ever but her color is high, her eyes shining.

"Cool it with the coffee, Hawk, or you're gonna be wetting your pants halfway over the Atlantic Ocean," she scolds good-naturedly, and he laughs and bumps her with his hip as he puts the mug into the sink.

"Be safe, you guys," says Steve.

Tony nods in agreement, raising his own coffee cup with one hand and giving a lazy salute with the other. "M'lord and lady--try not to get yourselves killed."

"We'll be back in a couple weeks," Natasha promises.

They are smiling when they leave, and in the coming months Steve would cling to that image--the two of them side by side, laughing with each other, feeling confident. Happy.

It would be the last time either would look that way for a long time.

*******

Natasha tells them much later that the mission had been a catastrophe from the start, that somewhere in the early planning some important details had been missed, or maybe misinterpreted. It's all unclear and with so much of it classified Steve can never put the whole narrative together. All that matters in the end is that Clint and Natasha had gone in with different strike teams. Hers had returned with heavy causalities. His is still missing.

"What's being done to find them?" Steve demands.

They have been summoned to Shield and are gathered in one of the empty conference rooms. There are reports and pages of data scattered on the table where Natasha and Fury have been working. Clint's bow is also there; it had been found without its owner. It is covered in scratches and gouges. Steve's eyes keep drifting back to it.

"Everything that can be done, is being done," Fury assures them and when Natasha nods in agreement Steve believes him. "The group that has them wants to exchange the Shield hostages for some of their members that we have locked up. Surely you can understand why that is not an option."

"If you can't bring my friend back I'll just go fucking get him myself." Tony has bypassed concern and gone straight to anger. "Give me a country to start in and I'll find him; I'll even be nice and rescue your other people as well."

"We're working on it, Stark. We'll get him back. We'll get all of them back."

*******

And almost three months later, they do.

*******

Shield Medical is busier than normal due to the influx of eight severely injured agents. Clint's injuries, for once, aren't even the worst; the doctors almost absently approve the Avengers' visit with him, being far more concerned at the moment with the other patients. Steve can hear shrieks coming from one of the rooms whenever the door opens long enough for a nurse to scurry in, only for the sound to be abruptly cut off when the door swings shut again.

Clint gives them a pained, lopsided smile when they come into the room, and their original excitement to see him vanishes in an almost audible rush of horror. He has lost a lot of weight in captivity and his skin is pale underneath a blue and purple palate of bruising. The bones around his left eye socket are broken, as are seven of his fingers. His jaw had been dislocated and left that way for an unknown period of time; it has been reset and there are bandages wound around his head to keep it shut and give it time to heal. They learn later that the doctors had attempted to wire it shut and were treated to a full force Barton freak out; bandages had been the compromise.

"You're so skinny--I'm going to make you pay the optometrist bills when you poke my eyes out with those cheekbones, Barton," Tony teases, but his face is worried. "Let's ditch this hellhole and get some pizza in you."

Clint makes a noise like he is trying to say something, and Bruce shushes him. "Just rest for now. We've got you."

*******

A week later Clint is desperate to get out of there.

He demands, as much as he can demand anything via scowls and gestures and meaningful looks, to be released from Medical, but the doctor won't allow it. He is still on a liquid diet and not doing great with even that, taking in as little as he can get away with. He's on an IV anyway and that seems good enough to him.

The doctor wants him to meet with Psych, but there's no point. His jaw, mouth, and tongue are still so swollen and painful that nothing intelligible comes out, and he can't write or even sign due to his broken fingers. When he does need something he can tap out words using Morse Code, but it takes forever and he is still easily exhausted. He can't imagine spending an entire Psych visit using his feet to drum out dots and dashes.

He appeals silently to Natasha to get him out, but she agrees with the doctor and will not help, so the next time Tony comes he grabs the man's shirt sleeve as well as he can manage. He inclines his head pointedly toward the door, raises his eyebrows, nods toward the door again.

Tony gently pulls Clint's hand away from his arm, mindful of the splints. "You're a mess, Tweetie Bird," he says and grins at Clint's glare. "It's a good thing your dirty looks are worth a thousand words, since you can only communicate in vowel sounds."

Clint gestures again to the door emphatically, using his whole hand since his goddamned fingers can't point at anything. His eyes hold an imploring look that finally even Tony cannot ignore.

"Alright," Tony says then, and pats his leg. "I'll go do some wheelin' and dealin'. You just sit here and try not to look so pathetic."

Clint has no idea what Tony says or promises, but somehow it works and they let him go home.

*******

He is still weak and his balance is terrible and Steve half carries him most of the way into the Tower, and then fully carries him for the rest. Tony makes a joke about the bride and groom as they enter the common area, and Clint rolls his eyes. Steve deposits Clint gently on the couch, and he settles into the cushions with a pleased sigh. Natasha slides in next to him, fussing with pillows, trying to get him to sit as upright as possible.

"Want a blanket?" Bruce asks, and Clint shrugs. "I'll go get you one."

Tony grabs a cold pack from the freezer. "Here, ice up your Hawkeye. And your Hawkjaw. And your fingers. Actually, just pretend that you're Cap and ice everything."

"Ha ha," Clint manages to mutter through his clenched jaws. His smile isn't as lopsided anymore.

They are relieved to have him back, relieved that things are going to be alright again.

********

Clint is healing, and that should mean that he is getting better, but Steve suspects that the opposite is true, that his friend is actually getting worse.

His fingers are still taped up, but no longer splinted, and the bruising that covered most of his face has faded to a dull green.

"You look like you're Hulking out!" Tony declares, but his grin fades quickly when no one else laughs.

Clint's jaw is working again, though Steve notices he still grinds his teeth together almost constantly. At first only Natasha had been able to decipher his garbled words, but now he is becoming more and more understandable to all of them. But as his capacity to speak returns his willingness to do so fades; he gets quieter and less responsive every day.

He is cleared to eat solid foods again, but doesn't. One day Bruce buys a loaf of bread from his favorite bakery as a treat, and Clint just sits at the table and pulls his piece apart compulsively. No one says anything as his plate fills with torn pieces of bread, looking like a small pile of snow, while none actually goes in his mouth. Finally Clint gets up and dumps everything in the sink.

He disappears into his and Natasha's apartment and does his best not to come back out.

********

"Can you tell us about it?" Tony's voice is uncharacteristically gentle. "Sometimes it can help, you know--to talk about things."

Clint hates Tony, hates all of them. This is some sort of intervention, or other similar bullshit masquerading as a team meeting, and he's not in the mood. Not now, not _ever_.

He gives what he hopes is a nonchalant shrug. "Not really."

"Maybe talking to a doctor would be better," Steve suggests, and Clint knows immediately that this whole thing had been Cap's idea. "Someone that would know the best way to help--"

" _No_!" He gives up pretending to be relaxed and goes straight to mild panic. "No, I don't want--can't you, can't you let me just work through it on my own?" He picks nervously at his injured fingers, pulling the tape back. The bandages are dirty, need to be changed, but he needs help to do that and can't ask. He doesn't want any of them to touch him. "I can, you know, I just need--I just need some _time_ is all."

"We could have someone come here, if you prefer," Tony is saying, while at the same time Natasha puts her hands over Clint's and says "You won't eat."

"I _am_ eating." He pulls his hands away and reaches up and rubs his jaw absently with his palm, bringing his hand down quickly when he sees them watching.

"I know they starved you."

Clint clenches his teeth. "So what? Yeah, they did. They starved everyone."

"But they fed you sometimes," she pushes. "Was it your jaw, that it hurt to eat? Or did they do something to the food? Drug it? Made it so it hurt you in some way?"

The things he could tell her. And part of him even wants to, wants to share it, but he can't. Those days replay in his mind constantly, but he can't pull the memories out with his words and put them out in the real world. He doesn't want them to be able to imagine the way it had been, to be able to picture him begging and weeping while his tormenters laughed.

But these are his friends, his teammates, and they are stubborn and worried and are trying to care about him in the only way they know how. They won't accept silence as an answer.

"There was always something wrong with it." Clint blurts out finally, and then is shaking, shaking so hard that an alarmed Bruce winds an arm around his shoulders. "It'd be rotten or have glass in it or they would even...they always...fucked with it somehow." He tries to smile at them; his face aches. It aches all the time. "It could have been worse, I know that. They burned Henstridge. I couldn't see her from my cell, but I could hear her screaming. They burned her over and over but didn't kill her."

"Dear God," Steve breathes, looking sick.

"So that could've been me. Or whatever they did to all the others, they could've done those things to me, I know that. Instead they just played head games and smacked me around. Not so bad as it could have been. Not so bad." He attempts to smile again, to show how fine he is, but now his teeth are chattering and that really sets the pain in his jaw ablaze.

"Don't say that," Bruce says quietly, squeezing Clint's shoulders with a steadying arm. "Don't say it was not so bad when we know they hurt you. They broke your bones."

Clint holds up his fingers, stares at them. They definitely need to be redressed. "The black haired guard stomped on them. So it'd be hard to p-p-pick up the food, and if I dropped it he'd stomp on them again."

They push a little more, but Clint's done. He closes his eyes until they stop talking, and eventually Natasha just wraps her arms around him silently. He doesn't want her to touch him, but does want it at the same time. He buries his face between her neck and shoulder, as if she could hide him, protect him, even though he knows than can never be true.

********

"The food here is perfectly safe," Steve assures him again and again. "You've lived here two years; you have to know that by now. You can trust us."

"I do, I do," Clint agrees each time, and means it. But whenever faced with actually eating he spins right back down into saying "There's something wrong with it. I can't. I know there's something wrong." He knows he's being unreasonable but can't help it.

Natasha pressures him and at least gets him to drink bottled water, which he can tolerate only when the packaging is new, the bottle unopened. Clint had seemed less upset by clear liquids like the broths he ate while still on a liquid diet--things he can see through, to make sure nothing else is in it. But as the days pass he is becoming resistant to even those things, though sometimes Bruce can still talk him into it.

All Steve knows is that Clint is slipping away. He reads everything he can find online about eating disorders and PTSD, but finds no magic cures.

"Natasha and I will make dinner and you can sit right here and watch us," he tries one night. "You can see for yourself that everything is as it should be, is safe."

Clint shrugs, looking uncertain, his anxiety increasing noticeably and steadily as Steve and Natasha prepare a simple salad and some baked chicken. They show him all the ingredients, all the steps of the cooking process. By the time the food is placed on the table his whole body is trembling, his eyes darting and wild.

"Hawkeye, you have to eat something." Natasha goes for firm and direct while the others try cajoling, reasoning.

Clint picks up his fork, his hand shaking so hard that it hits his plate in a rapid _ting-ting-ting_ sound. He gives Natasha an imploring look, though knowing full well she would be the last one to spare him.

She puts her hand on his wrist in a calming gesture. "You and I have trusted each other for eleven years. You know I would never harm you. I made this food with my own hands and I promise you that is safe." She eats some of the chicken from his plate to prove it. "Come on, my Ptitchka, please just try."

And he does try, really tries, struggling against himself and even goes so far as to choke down a few bites before he pushes his chair away and sprints from the room.

Natasha follows, cursing, with Tony trailing behind her.

Bruce and Steve hang back, exchanging unhappy, worried looks.

"We have to do something," Steve tells Bruce. "We're in over our heads here."

********

"No more," Clint begs as she pulls him out from his closet. "I don't want it. There's something wrong with it. I don't want to eat it. I can't."

"What are we going to do with you?" she murmurs and holds him, her eyes meeting Tony's.

"I just want to go to sleep, just let me sleep," he says brokenly, and finally they give in and tuck him into bed, where he curls protectively into the sheets, cringing away from them.

********

When she asks he tells Natasha he thinks about it sometimes, being back in the cell. He doesn't give any more information than that, just that it sometimes comes back to him.

He remembers starving, listening to the others scream, being powerless to help them. The first few weeks they had called out to one another, trying to be supportive, trying to be a team despite their circumstances. He isn't sure when that had stopped, but one by one everyone had fallen silent, except when it was their turn, because no one could keep silent then.

The smell of Henstridge's flesh burning as she screamed again and again. Hesse calling out for his mother in German. Clint had covered his ears and tried not to listen. He tried to be quiet when his own turns came, didn't want the others to have to hear. He had managed to choke back his cries the first time they broke his fingers, but he hadn't been able to be silent the second time. Or the times after that. He had lain on the cold floor with his distorted hands held out in front of him, staring at them and wishing it could all be over. Everything. Just over.

He thinks often of the dark haired guard coming in with a big grin, holding out a bowl full of sand. That had been his favorite thing, to make Clint eat mouthful after mouthful until he threw up. And one day when Clint would not do it the guard had two others hold him still while he grabbed Clint's lower jaw and pulled. And pulled. Clint hadn't been able to hold in his screams of agony, screams that changed in sound when his jaw was dislocated, hung uselessly open.

They had brought good food then, the only time they ever did in almost three months, food that hadn't been spoiled or pissed in or mixed with something terrible. They shoved it in his mouth, but he couldn't chew, and they had laughed as he choked and gasped and tears rolled down his cheeks.

He had tried to rehinge his jaw himself when they left, but his fingers were useless and he just couldn't get his hands to push properly. He had laid on the cement floor and tried to use leverage to force the dislocation back into place, but it didn't work and he had ended up blacking out from the pain. They did not bring him any more food after that, and Clint was glad. Drinking water was difficult enough, and finally he stopped doing that, too.

For the last few days in the cell he just laid on the floor and every once in a while someone would open the door, look at him, then leave. And the last time the door had opened there were Shield agents standing there instead of guards, and they lifted him up with careful hands and wrapped a blanket around him.

They pulled his body out of the cell but somehow Clint Barton had still been left inside. He thinks that he must have died back there, and now he is just waiting for his body to catch up, to stop wasting away so slowly and join his heart and mind already.

He tells Natasha he thinks about it sometimes, and it's a lie.

He thinks about it all the time.

*********

Natasha tells him to get in the shower, so he does.

He makes the water as hot as he can; it feels nice, if a little uncomfortable. He stands there blankly for a few minutes, or maybe for twenty, and comes back to himself with a start. He wonders if he needs to wash his hair, or if he has done it already. He reaches up to feel it and can't tell. For a second he has a weird, disconnected feeling, like the head he is touching isn't really his. He scratches his fingernails into his scalp hard enough to hurt, the pain confirming that yes, it really is his head. He is relieved and laughs a little.

He remembers he is supposed to be washing, not scratching himself to pieces, and picks up the shampoo bottle. Tries to remember if he has already washed his hair, or if he is just remembering wondering that before. He stands there awhile longer, confused, before Natasha comes in and turns off the water, which has gone cold.

She is saying something as she drags him back out to his bedroom. She hands him clothes and he has trouble figuring out what goes where, what he is looking at--which are armholes or legholes or even fucking headholes. Natasha scolds quietly as she dresses him, pushing his limbs into the right places.

"I'm sorry," he says and she just shakes her head with an unhappy smile and leaves.

He can hear her crying in the other room, and that is bad, that is wrong, because Natasha never cries.

Still, when Steve stops by later to check on them she tells him everything is fine and sends him away.

********

Natasha is leaving, being sent on a mission for Shield.

She had resisted being sent out as long as she could, but it has been months since she left on that last disastrous mission, and there are no more ways to delay.

"I should be going with you," Clint says fretfully as she packs her bag. "Something could happen." He is pale and shaky, seems even more unsteady since she told him she was going.

"Get better so that you can be with me next time," Natasha tells him. "There's no one I trust more to have my back." She hugs him gently, then draws back to arm's length and gives him a serious look. "While I'm gone I want you to either stay in Steve or Bruce's spare room. I've talked to them both; you just have to decide where you're more comfortable and let them know."

"What the hell for?" he demands indignantly.

"Because we don't want you to be left alone," she says. "You're scaring us to death."

********

It isn't much of a team meeting, with Thor and Natasha gone and Clint holed up in Bruce's guest room, but Steve calls it anyway.

"We need to get Clint some help," he says. "Medical help. This has gone on too long; he's not getting any better. In fact, I think he's getting worse and I don't want to find out how far this is going to go."

"We can't," Bruce surprises him by arguing. Steve would have guessed that the doctor, of anyone, would be most supportive of getting outside assistance. "You put a person in a psychiatric unit and they can disappear in there. We might not get him back."

"Cap isn't saying that we'll stick him in a nuthouse," Tony protests, but Bruce shakes his head vehemently.

"Any doctor that takes one look at him is going to frog march him straight to a locked ward and you know it. And there's no way Clint will go voluntarily. You'll have to drag him there, and I won't be a part of that."

"And I won't stand by and watch him starve himself to death," Steve says firmly. He looks at Stark, miserably staring at the table in front of him. "Tony?"

"We have to do something," Tony agrees with a sigh. "I don't want to, but we have to."

There is no danger of the Hulk, but Bruce is obviously angry as he stands. "You would think that the people on this team would understand what it's like to have their choices taken away...and that they wouldn't do that to a friend. Not to a friend." He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

********

Nothing feels real except for the muted pain in his face and hands. It never seems to fully go away.

Natasha is gone, and it's actually a relief; she was always watching. Bruce is around somewhere, but he's quiet and mostly leaves Clint alone.

He hates the way they look at him, Tony and Steve in particular. Their eyes are huge and dark and mournful and seem to take up their whole faces somehow. It's as if the blackness of the cell has moved onto their faces and it doesn't seem fair at all that they can be devoured, too, when it's supposed to be safe out here. Their staring eyes burn, and he wishes they would go away, would stop looking.

Clint wonders sometimes if he is still actually in the cell, if Shield never came to get him. If now, laying here in Bruce's guestroom with the covers pulled over his head, is the dream while the cell is the reality, and his mind is too weak to tell the difference.

It is dark and too quiet and he can't think properly and he knows that any minute Henstridge will start screaming again so he covers his ears. He doesn't want to be here anymore, wherever here is. Whatever had happened, it is still happening.

Then Bruce is there looking tired and worried and Clint pushes him away but Bruce doesn't leave. Then Tony and Steve are also there and they are all talking and he puts his hands over his face, can't stand their eyes on him.

He thinks maybe they've come to rescue him, but then it occurs that maybe they're actually trying to put him back, and everything is tangled and wrong and there's no escape from any of it.

********

Clint is hysterical for hours, sobbing something about sand and eyes and begging them not to make him eat anything. He clutches his hands to his face, hunching over and trying to turn away from them.

"That's it," Tony says, his own eyes wide with fear, as he holds onto Clint and tries to calm him. "Too much. It's too much."

This time Bruce agrees.

Tony wants to call an ambulance right then, but Steve calls Nick Fury instead, not caring that it's the middle of the night, that he's waking the director up.

"Bring him here first thing in the morning," Fury says. "He's an agent of Shield and we'll take care of him."

********

By morning Clint seems a little steadier, doesn't remember the panic attack at all, and Bruce has second thoughts. He agrees to keep them to himself and leaves to hide in his lab, looking unhappy.

Steve and Tony tell Clint they are going to Shield headquarters, that Fury has asked to see him. Clint seems confused, but also sort of pleased. He asks if he's being sent out with Natasha after all, if he should wear his Shield uniform.

"Sure, why not?" Tony says as casually as he can and helps Clint dig it out. The uniform hangs on him. Clint's fingers are too stiff to tie his boots so Tony does it for him. "You look great," Tony declares, but he looks away when he says it.

They arrive at Shield and Nick Fury is waiting for them in the front lobby. He frowns deeply when he sees his agent. "Look at you," he scolds gently. "What would Phil Coulson say if he could see you right now, Barton?"

Clint is exhausted already and lets Fury take him by the arm. "I guess he'd be pretty mad."

"Damned right he'd be mad. But then he would help you, like I'm going to." He firms his grip on Clint's elbow. "Take a walk with me."

Clint seems to think they are going to Fury's office and goes along without protest, Steve and Tony following them apprehensively. Clint watches his feet while Fury talks about agency gossip and they are almost all the way to Psych before he notices.

When Clint realizes where they are actually going he pushes his heels down into the floor in an attempt to halt their progress. He twists his upper body violently and the unexpected movement manages to knock Fury off balance and Clint gets out of the director's grasp.

Five months ago Clint Barton would have been able to escape them easily, jackrabbiting down the hall, and disappearing deep into the vents or access corridors of Shield within moments. But there have been too many days without food, too many nights without sleep, and he is no longer in any condition to out maneuver anyone.

He still makes a surprisingly good adrenaline fueled escape attempt, all things considered. Steve reaches out and catches him quickly by the arm, which Clint wrenches desperately away. Not wanting to hurt him, Steve instinctively lets go rather than tighten his grip--his friend's arm feels fragile, as if even his bones are thin, and Steve is afraid he will break it. Clint makes another running leap away but Fury, still on the floor after being knocked down, grabs his ankle and yanks him to the ground.

Clint's face hits the floor as he falls, blood exploding from his nose, the bright red a sick contrast to his pale skin. His fingers scratch for purchase on the smooth tile as Fury drags him backwards.

"A little help out here?" Fury calls, but the door is already opening, a concerned looking doctor and two burly assistants running toward them. Steve realizes they have been ready and waiting, expecting this scene, or something like it.

"It's alright, Agent Barton, we just want to help you, to get you better," the doctor says and the orderlies are picking him up, holding him easily despite his struggles. She plucks a syringe from her pocket, uncaps it. "This will help you relax; we don't you want you to hurt yourself any more."

"No, don't, no!" Clint is gasping and trying to twist away from her. "Don't do it, I don't want that!"

"I know you don't," she says soothingly as she administers the injection. "There, all done. No one here wants to hurt you, we all want to get you well again."

Clint continues to struggle futilely, but Steve can see his movements already weakening, getting slower, like a toy whose batteries were quickly giving out. "Stop," he says, but the panic is bleeding out of his voice; it has a faraway quality to it. He looks up to meet Steve's eyes. Blood still pours from his nose, now trickling down his neck to his shirt collar. "Steve," he says thickly. "Steve. Help."

"Fuck this." With an anguished expression, Tony abruptly turns and quickly disappears down the corridor. Steve wishes he could follow.

Instead he reaches out, touches Clint's shoulder. "I'm trying to. I _am_ trying to help you." His voice wavers a little bit and he clears his throat, steeling himself. His friend needed reassurance; he could feel guilty and second guess himself later. "It's just for a little while, until you're better."

Clint watches him dully, his eyes staying closed a little longer each time in between slow blinks. He tries to say something else, but it only comes out as "Nnnnnnnn" as he hangs limply in the orderlies' strong arms. His eyes remain on Steve in a leaden, unfocused way.

"I'll come back in a bit and talk to you gentlemen," the doctor promises as they lift him easily to a gurney. "We'll get him cleaned up and settled into a room. You can wait in my office if you like."

Steve finds Tony a few hallways away, leaning with his forehead to the wall, breathing through clenched teeth. "Do you want to come back, talk to the doctor with us?"

"Not really," Tony answers tiredly, but follows Steve anyway to where Fury sits waiting. "I feel like a terrible person, and that's a feeling I don't care much for," he says to them.

Fury shakes his head. "It's for his own good, and you know it. These guys are the best; they'll get him sorted out."

Steve envies his confidence.

*******

About twenty minutes later the doctor comes in and introduces herself as Amy Burke. She's a little younger than what Steve imagines doctor should be, but she seems knowledgeable and sure of herself, and of her staff. "You made the right decision," she tells them, and Steve has the feeling she is speaking to him in particular. "Agent Barton is not well, and he's not going to get any better without help."

"What are you going to do with him?" Tony's voice is laced with suspicion . "Tie him down and pump him full of sedatives? Because I'm gonna tell you straight--what I saw back there in that hall wasn't much different than what they did when he was locked up. Tell me how that's going to help him."

She ignores his tone. "We're going to treat him with medication and get his weight back up. Once he's stabilized a little we can incorporate therapy. It's an approach that generally works in similar situations."

"Because Shield puts its people in such situations pretty regularly," Tony sneers, eyeing Fury, who gazes impassively back.

"Shield agents do incredibly stressful and dangerous work," the doctor concedes, "and it's our job to help support them and get them through any psychological damages they sustain. Much of the time we can bring them back from their pain, get them healthy, get them back into their lives."

"And when you can't?" Steve can't help but ask.

She smiles sympathetically, a little sadly. "Then we just focus on keeping them safe."

"Can we see him before we leave?"

"Of course, I think that would be a good thing. And then I will ask that you wait at least a week before anyone comes to visit; that will let us get a good handle on things without a lot of disruption."

Tony glowers darkly at that, but gets up to go with Steve, Fury staying behind to talk further with the doctor.

**********

Clint is already in a room; his bloody nose has been cleaned up, and he is in hospital clothing. The blankets have been pulled up high to his chest, but Steve can still make out the padded restraints around his wrists and legs.

A nurse sits in the corner, tapping away at a computer. Tony scowls at her and she smiles placidly back. "Someone will always be with him for the first few weeks," she says solicitously, and Steve tries not to flinch at the last word.

He goes to the bed and snakes his hand under the side of the blanket to find Clint's, holds it gently. "How are you?" A stupid question, but the only one he can think of at the moment.

Clint is still sedated, appears wrung out and listless. "Steve." He tries to squeeze Steve's hand but can't get his fingers to move right; they just sort of twitch. "Please. I don't want..." His voice trails off and he focuses instead on Tony, tries again. "Please. Take me home."

Tony puts his hand on Clint's shoulder. "We're not going to leave you here, I promise. But we can't bring you home, not yet." Clint turns his head away, face crumpling, as Tony pushes on. "As soon as they say we can, we'll come back and see you. But you have to try. You have to try to get better. Okay?"

Clint does not answer, and won't acknowledge them again, so finally Tony and Steve leave. They ride back to the Tower silently, neither able to look at the other.

********

Natasha is furious, incensed, is every angry adjective that anyone has ever heard of.

"You waited until I was gone to do this!" she seethes over the video chat feed. "You waited until I couldn't do anything to stop you!"

"He was dying," Steve tries to explain, but she won't listen, cutting off her end of the transmission abruptly. Steve sighs, hangs his head a little. Sees Bruce watching him. "He was dying," he says again. "I didn't know what else to do."

To his surprise Bruce gives him a sympathetic look. "I know, Cap. And as for Natasha...and myself...well, it's easier to be mad than to be afraid."

*******

Exactly seven days later Steve and Tony go to see Clint. Bruce says that he wants to come, but that he doesn't trust himself not to Hulk out in Shield Psych. Steve suspects that for once Bruce is glad for that particular excuse.

"We've got him on a feeding tube and he's finally stopped pulling it out," the doctor tells them. "He has gained four pounds already and we keep encouraging him to try to eat."

"How is therapy going?" Steve wants to know.

"Not well so far; Agent Barton has not spoken since your team left last week." Steve feels himself blanch, and Dr. Burke continues on reassuringly, "That is not completely unusual in our experience here. It takes awhile to settle in, to feel safe. Shield agents often have a pretty hefty dose of paranoia as is, and added to whatever issue they are battling...it can be tough. We're still getting his medications to therapeutic levels; they can be changed later if he does not improve."

Tony frowns. "Just let us see him."

******

Clint is curled up in bed, facing away from the door. He doesn't react at all when they enter the room. Dr. Burke has come with them, but hangs back in the doorway.

A nurse sits in the one of the chairs reading a mystery novel. She lowers it when they come in, smiling. She looks more like someone's grandmother than a psychiatric nurse who deals with potentially volatile Shield agents. "Hi, I'm Aggie, one of the day nurses. It's nice to meet you." She goes over to Clint, touches his arm. He doesn't respond to her either. "Look, Agent Barton, your friends have come to see you. Come on, sit up, come on, they came all the way here." She pulls his shoulders and rolls him over to face them, and though he moves without resistance, his face is slack, his eyes empty.

Steve's first impression is that Clint looks worse, much worse, than he had the week before. The hospital pajamas, the IV port in his hand, the nasal gastric tube taped to his face all contribute to an overall effect of poor health. His skin is sallow and there are dark circles beneath his eyes.

"What the hell?" Tony demands angrily. "How doped up is this guy? You were supposed to help him, not make him catatonic." He puts an arm behind his friend's shoulders, shakes him a little. "Can you hear me, man? Clint? Hawkeye?"

But he isn't there.

********

Over the next few weeks Clint remains almost exactly the same, the only change being a slow weight gain thanks to the feeding tube. Steve visits him every day without fail, telling him about the goings on at the Tower or reading a magazine aloud.

Tony comes with Steve to visit a few times, but it is difficult for him. "I can't stand seeing him that way. It makes me think that we made him worse by putting him in there." Eventually he stops coming along and Steve doesn't make an issue of it.

Bruce never comes and barely leaves his lab. Tony starts hiding out in his workshop or in his apartment. There are no more team dinners, no movie nights.

Steve sits on the couch in the common room and watches television alone sometimes. He hopes that Tony will drift in eventually and join him, but he never does.

*******

One day Steve is reading aloud and notices that Clint is looking at him, actually seeing him. He blinks in surprise, then smiles and says, "Hey. How are you?"

Clint just stares at him and seems to be disoriented. Steve starts to say something else when he whispers, "Go away."

Steve looks over to the nurse, this time a guy named Diego, who quickly gets up and stands beside him. "How do you feel, Agent Barton?" Diego grabs his wrist to take his pulse, and Clint doesn't seem to notice him at all. He is still staring at Steve, his bluish grey eyes growing fearful.

"Don't look at me, Cap," Clint pleads, and this time his voice is louder. He twists his head to the side, jerks his hand away from the nurse. "Please go away."

"Are you okay?" Steve tries. It's such a relief to hear him talking again after so long, but the words sting just a little--when he has visited when the others had not, when he has been so faithful. "It's me, it's Steve."

But then Clint is panicking, is upset about something only he can know about. He digs his palms into his eyes and is moaning nonsensical phrases and trying to get away.

Diego pins him to the bed to keep him from falling off. "I think you'd better leave for a bit," he says to Steve. His voice is sympathetic but firm.

Steve sits in the waiting area for awhile but no one comes out. Finally he heads back to the Tower. He wonders if he should visit tomorrow, and knows that he has to--if he doesn't go, no one will, and Clint would be alone.

Steve is getting pretty tired of being the strong one.

*******

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Clint says immediately the next day. His voice is exhausted and a little raspy.

"Don't be ridiculous, I was so glad to hear your voice that you could have said anything and I would have been happy."

Clint smiles back weakly. "I was just confused. I guess I've been confused for awhile now." He holds up his hands and looks at his fingers. They are a little crooked maybe, but fully healed. "I thought I was dead," he says, and his voice is slightly incredulous. "But I'm still here." He looks at Steve, eyes questioning. "Aren't...aren't I?"

Steve takes both of Clint's hands gently in his own. "You are."

******

"What has happened here?" Thor demands. "Where are Hawkeye and Natasha? Why is everyone acting so strangely?"

They are good questions. Thor has returned, expecting the usual exuberant welcome and instead discovering a silent, disconnected team. Tony had clapped the Asgardian on the back and then disappeared back into his lab; Bruce never left his in the first place. Steve and Thor sit at a dinner table with four empty chairs.

"Natasha is on a mission somewhere in China--or at least I _think_ she's in China. She should be coming home any time. Clint has been sick; he's been in the hospital for more than two months."

"I do not know much of human maladies. What ails our friend?"

Steve clears his throat. "It's an illness of the mind, I guess you could say. And he wasn't able to eat and that made his body sick as well." _Might as well go all in_ , Steve thinks, and adds "The others are angry because I made Clint stay in the hospital when he did not want to. But I had to do it...because he was going to die."

Thor looks thoughtful. "Did he not wish to live?"

"I don't know," Steve says honestly, "but he was hurting and I couldn't just let that happen."

"When will he be well again? Can I see him?"

Steve tries to imagine Thor's loud volume in the quiet setting of Shield Psych. Then he wonders if seeing the boisterous Asgardian might lift Clint's spirits and says "He's doing a lot better now, and of course you can. Let's go tomorrow."

******

When Thor sees Clint he is visibly shocked. Steve doesn't bother telling him how much worse the archer had looked before.

"My brother, what has happened to you?" Thor cries, scooping him up in what must be a bone crushing hug.

"Be gentle with him!" Steve warns, but Clint is smiling, really smiling, for the first time in months.

"I got captured and tortured and then I went crazy," he says conspiratorially to Thor, winking at Steve. "I got all twisted up about eating and now they're trying to help me unknot my thinking."

Steve exchanges a surprised glance with Diego. It is the first time Steve has heard Clint express any sort of insight to the situation, and he allows himself to hope that it's a good sign.

Diego says "Maybe your friends could join you for lunch."

Clint's smile fades immediately. The feeding tube had been taken out the week before, as a trial, since he has been more willing to drink protein shakes. Eating actual food is still a struggle, but he had managed a few single ingredient items as long as they had no seasonings whatsoever. "Maybe. I don't--I don't..." he trails off, looking uncertain.

"We would be glad to stay," Steve assures him, and Thor nods in agreement, not understanding how there could be a problem.

Diego calls the order in to the cafeteria while Steve makes sure that the conversation continues, encouraging Thor to tell the story of a particularly adventurous cab ride he and Jane had shared once. Clint grows quieter by the second, not really listening, keeps glancing at the clock.

The food arrives; some kind of turkey and mashed potato dish that Steve has to admit tastes pretty good, especially considering it is hospital fare. Thor digs in enthusiastically while Clint stirs his potatoes around unhappily. He glances at Diego, who eyes him meaningfully and inclines his head toward the plate.

"It is very good," Thor says encouragingly.

Clint sighs and finally scoops up some potatoes and eats them. Steve can't help but beam at him, and Clint smiles hesitantly back. He loads his fork with another bite, then pauses, looking at it.

"There's....there's something in it," he says, his eyes suddenly wide. There is a note of panic in his voice that Steve knows all too well.

"There isn't," Diego says firmly and goes over to Clint. He looks at the forkful and makes a frustrated sound. "It's just pepper," he says. "They messed up and put pepper in it. It's just a little bit, and it won't hurt you, I promise."

"There's something _in_ it," Clint says again, throwing the fork to the table and pushing his chair away in the same motion. "There's not--not supposed to be--" he is breathing hard, retreating backward. "Not supposed to be--they put something in it--" He cringes against the wall, gasping, arms wrapped around himself.

Diego stacks the plates rapidly, fuming about the kitchen's mistake, and Steve takes them swiftly out of the room, putting them on the floor just outside the door. "Look, it's okay. See? It's gone."

Thor goes to Clint and pulls him into a careful embrace. "It is alright," he murmurs quietly. "I will not allow anyone to harm you."

But even the reassurances of a demi-god are of no comfort, and Clint's panic grows and grows until the nurses finally sedate him.

Thor is quiet on the cab ride back to the Tower. "His mind is as frail as his body," he says finally. "I have never seen anything like that before."

"Me either," Steve admits.

Thor looks out the window at the city around them, bustling and living and not giving any of them a second thought. "I should have come earlier," he says sadly. "A lot earlier."

********

It's a setback, but it's not fatal.

"When can I go home?" Clint asks the doctor. It's the first time he has asked in a long while.

"When it's safe and you're ready," she tells him. "Is that time now?"

He has to admit that it is not. It isn't time yet, but it is getting closer, at least.

********

Natasha returns at last.

Steve had been more than a little concerned that she would be as furious as she had been during their last conversation, and so he is surprised when she appears calm.

"Tell me everything," she says, and he does.

**********

Clint spends the entirety of Natasha's visit snuggled up next to her on the couch of the dayroom, their arms wrapped around one another.

Tony has also decided to come along, and is visibly relieved and encouraged by Clint's healthier appearance. "You two are the most co-dependent people I've ever seen," he gripes, but is smiling. "I don't recall you ever cuddling me like that any time I've dragged my happy ass down here, Barton."

"You don't smell as good as Natasha," Clint counters, and she snickers.

"Whatever. I smell amazing, like always. Well, unless I've burned something. Or spent too long in the Iron Man suit; things can get pretty ripe in there. One time I ate a bunch of Mexican food before we went out and it was a kind of slow suicide."

Natasha gives him a withering stare. "We're supposed to be encouraging him to eat, not turning him off of it entirely," she says derisively, but smiles when Clint laughs.

********

Natasha storms into Bruce's lab and drags him out for dinner. Thor does the same to Tony and they sit down for a team meal for the first time in months.

"We are a goddamned family and it's time to fucking _act_ like one," Natasha declares.

Steve would comment on her language if he did not agree so heartily. Tony just grins and Bruce does too, a little.

They talk about Natasha's mission, which had been boring instead of dangerous. Bruce admits that his experiments have been a little boring, as well, and that it's nice to be with them again.

*********

Bruce visits for the first time and is happy when Clint hugs him, seeming so much like his old self. He doesn't ask where Bruce has been, why he hasn't come earlier--Barton has always been the most easygoing of them all, the most forgiving of the team. He would never ask.

Bruce has brought Clint's bow with him. The archer runs his hand over it with a faint smile, his fingertips lingering on the scratches up the side.

"Will they let you go down and shoot?" Bruce asks, and Clint is surprised by the question. He obviously hasn't thought of asking before, and is even more shocked, but pleased, when Dr. Burke agrees.

The older nurse, Aggie, comes along. It is mostly to watch Clint, Bruce knows, to make sure he doesn't hurt himself, but she is curious as well and that makes her presence feel more natural, less intrusive. Aggie has been to the gun range--she's a Shield employee as much as anyone else--but never to the archery range. It is used almost exclusively by Clint and she did not even know it existed. She is fascinated by everything and Clint explains the pieces of equipment to her with pride and a palpable excitement.

But when he draws back his bow for the first time Bruce is worried. The tension is as low as it can go, and the bow is light, but Bruce has this sudden terror that if Clint misses it will break him. Will maybe break him worse than any other disappointment could, and it will be Bruce who hurt him, will be Bruce's fault for suggesting it.

Of course Clint does not miss. Hawkeye never misses. He hits the bullseye with ease and Aggie hoots with delight and claps her hands. Bruce lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as Clint grins widely and takes a showy bow.

"That's wonderful!" she says in unaffected admiration, and Clint winks at Bruce.

"That's nothing," he says, obviously pleased with her reaction. "Got any change, Aggie?" His eyes are shining, alive.

She does, and so does Bruce, and they spend the rest of the afternoon at the range, with Bruce throwing coins in the air for Clint to shoot down. Aggie picks up a quarter with a neat hole through it and says she is going to keep it to show off to her grandsons.

It is the happiest day Bruce has had in a long while.

*********

When Clint finally comes home Tony wants to throw him a big party, but the others talk him out of it. Instead Steve proposes the novel concept of asking Clint what he wants to do to celebrate, which Tony grudgingly concedes might be a good idea.

He surprises them by asking for a campout on the roof; it has been a long time since he was able to spend time outdoors, and he has missed it. The weather is mild so they spread out some blankets and sleeping bags and sit around talking most of the night.

*******

"And the Lady Reyane did not weep as the wolves surrounded the cave, only steeled herself for what must be done," Thor continues theatrically. He holds the flashlight under his chin to illuminate his face, as they have shown him. "She raised her sword to protect her children, and did not waver for a moment, even when the beasts entered the cave and the largest was wearing the face of her husband."

 _What the fuck_? Clint mouths to Natasha, who laughs quietly, shaking her head.

"And when the face was pulled back to reveal the skull beneath--"

"Thor," Bruce interrupts finally, "is this really a ghost story--you know, a made up scary story--or is this something that actually happened? Because there is...um...a lot of detail."

"This all did happen, in the time of my grandfather. He told me the tale often when I was a boy."

"So it's _true_? Even the face wearing? Cause that's just...that's just gross."

"Ghost stories are supposed to be made up, Thorpedo, as well as short and scary. Your story, however, is endless and utterly gruesome," Tony grouses. He looks a little nauseous and is rethinking his idea of making s'mores later.

"Did she at least kill the wolves, after all this rigmarole?" Steve can't keep from asking.

"No, Reyane and all her children perished, and their souls became the rocks of the Screaming Cliffs."

"Jesus," Clint says mildly, raising his eyebrows. "Asgardian bedtime stories contain some traumatizing shit."

"Yeah, and now I'm never sleeping again," Tony declares. "Brucie, you tell one, cleanse our horror palate."

Bruce takes the flashlight and tells the story of the hitchhiker with the hook hand, which somehow only Tony and Clint have heard before. "And hanging there, on the door handle....was a BLOODY HOOK!" he finishes dramatically, wondering if he looks as foolish as he feels.

Clint and Tony snicker, but Thor is confused. "That is where the story ends? What did they say upon discovering it? What did they do with the hook?"

"They didn't do anything, because it's just a story."

"I would leave it on the car, as a warning to those who would attempt the same," Thor suggests.

"I'd bring it to the police, the guy was a murderer, right?" Steve says and Tony rolls his eyes.

"As soon as I discovered it I would drive back to the place I had parked before, look for a handless man, and beat him to death with his own goddamned hook," the Black Widow offers.

"Isn't that just great?" Clint asks the others emphatically. He is beaming. "Isn't _she_ great?"

Bruce shakes his head with a smile. "Nat? Your turn to tell us a scary story."

Natasha takes the flashlight, but instead of holding it under her chin points it directly at Tony's face. "One day Tony Stark died and the devil dragged him straight to hell, where he burned for all eternity. The end."

Tony laughs as hard as anyone. "Okay, Barton is right. She's great."

********

One by one they fall asleep. Bruce and Thor both snore softly. Tony attempts to cuddle up to Natasha, who punches him without even waking. He rolls away groggily and tries Bruce instead.

Steve wakes up sometime before sunrise and sees Clint sitting on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling. His heart goes into his throat for one horrible moment, but Clint catches sight of him and grins reassuringly. Steve thinks about trying to go back to sleep, but there's no chance in hell of that happening now, so he gets up and sits beside Clint.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

"Not anything, really. I'm just happy to be here. With you guys."

Steve smiles at him. "We're happy about that, too. You gonna watch the sun come up?"

"Indeed I am."

They sit quietly and watch it together while the others sleep. And for the first time since Natasha and Clint had left for that mission--laughing and happy and unknowingly hurtling toward disaster--everything feels right again.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm wasting away, but cannot die" is a quote from the movie "Excalibur". It's an older movie, and not particularly well made, but I dearly love it.


End file.
